


Intruder

by death_frisbee



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Ice Speculation Zine, One-Shot, Young Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 07:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17463113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/death_frisbee/pseuds/death_frisbee
Summary: All of Russia knew that, with Yakov Feltsman, class time was sacred. No one entered the rink when there was a class, and no one, NO ONE, would ever be enough of an idiot to actually interrupt a class for an audition.Except, of course, for one very, very hopeful boy with a winning name and smile.~My submission for the Ice Speculation Zine!





	Intruder

**Author's Note:**

> The time has come and I can share the full one-shot I wrote for the Ice Speculation Zine!! Young Vitya is one of my favorite things ever, and getting to show how his relationship with Yakov might have started is something I’ve wanted to write forever, so THANK YOU ZINE FOR GIVING ME THE OPPORTUNITY TO.

Yakov hadn’t been a young man when his life had changed. He’d just begun his descent into old age, just beginning to entertain the thought of retiring. He had plenty to show for all of his years of hard work, after all: a fruitful skating career of his own, now thirty years behind him, and reputation as a coach who put out gold medal winners. But, well, he liked his work, and he liked pushing students to be the best possible skaters they could be.

That said, he didn’t run a _charity._ Even with parents offering frankly obscene amounts of money for their children to be part of his classes, even with coaches calling him _begging_ to take their students, he had a very strict set of rules to be considered before he would even _consider_ taking them on:

  * Students had to be passionate about the ice
  * Parents had to accept that _he_ was the one in charge of their child while on the ice
  * His time was to be respected.



Rules one and two were the ones most often stumbled upon; he had no patience for lazy students or overbearing parents. The third rule, though, was never an issue. Auditions were always made via appointment, and all of Russia knew that class time was _sacred._ Students—and _only students_ —were the only ones allowed in the rink at that time, and no one—not even the pushiest parent or the most hopeful coach—would dare to interrupt it.

So, when he heard an unfamiliar voice call out, “Hey! Are you Yakov Feltsman?” in the middle of warm-ups, he nearly had a heart attack.

The entire class came to an abrupt halt, the dozen Juniors staring wide-eyed at the intruder as Yakov took a moment to silently fume. There would have to be a _long talk_ with management about the shoddy security at the rink. He took a deep breath, then turned to look at the _very unwelcome_ arrival. A young boy leaned against the wall, skates slung over his shoulder. One smile, one head tilt, and slightly widened, bright blue eyes told Yakov what he needed to know; it wasn’t shoddy security that got this boy in. No, this was a _charmer._

And Yakov _hated_ charmers.

“This rink is—”

“I was told to come find you by my coach, Irina Mikhailova,” the boy continued blithely, as if Yakov hadn’t spoken. “She said you used to coach her, and that you could teach me more than she can. So I came here as quickly as I could.”

Yakov huffed a sharp breath through his nose, crossing his arms. “If you want to join, your pa—”

“Oh, I have the money for it,” the boy barreled on, starting to dig in his bag. “I can actually pay for the first few classes now! And I _swear_ I won’t complain, no matter how hard…”

“ _Quiet!_ ”

The snap rang out through whole rink, finally quieting the boy. Yakov pinched the bridge of his nose, taking and releasing a long, slow breath as he shut his eyes. Losing his temper was bad for his blood pressure. But, hopefully, once he opened his eyes, the boy would be smart enough to _leave immediately_.

He opened his eyes, and two wide blue eyes were staring right back at him. Rather than being cowed (like the rest of the class currently was), he stood strong, face set in determination and silently refusing to move.

So he was a _stubborn_ charmer.

Yakov let out another huff, then pointed to the seats just off the rink. “ _Sit_.”

The icy determination suddenly melted away, and he eagerly dropped into a chair. He opened his mouth to speak, but Yakov held up a hand.

“For the love of _god_ , don’t say a word and just _sit there._ I’ll talk to you once class is over.”

The boy shut his mouth, and he nodded before sitting up straight, attention raptly on the ice. Yakov rubbed his temples, then whirled around to face his students—who all quickly tried to look like they’d been warming up instead of watching to see how their coach would deal with the intruder.

“You know what’s next! Drills! _Now_!” he barked.

He crossed his arms as the whole class scrambled to show that they did indeed remember that drills came next, and the class progressed as normal—with everyone, especially Yakov, doing their best to ignore their _visitor._

However, despite his best efforts, Yakov’s gaze kept drifting over to the boy. He sat straight up in his seat, eyes following the other skaters through their routines. Yakov had been around long enough to know when someone was itching to skate, and it looked as though it were taking all of this boy’s self-control to keep himself from launching himself over the wall to join them.

Well. At least the passion was there.

The class did finally come to an end, and the students meandered off the rink. Several hung around off the ice, obviously waiting to see what would happen to the intruder, but were quickly ushered out with a hard look from their coach. Finally, when it was just him and the boy, Yakov turned to look at him. He fidgeted in his seat, excitement radiating from every inch of him as he boldly met his eyes. Yakov sighed and shook his head.

“So. You want me to coach you?”

“Yes! Very much!” The boy leapt up to his feet, but dropped back down as Yakov motioned for him to sit.

“Why?”

This question was always the hardest for potential students to answer. “Because you’re the best” was the usual response, which resulted in an automatic dismissal. “Because I want to go to the Olympics” was another common one, and usually that one resulted in continuing with the audition.  “Because my coach says I can do better, and you can help me” was the one he liked the best; almost all of those students wound up joining him.

The boy pressed his lips together for a moment, but there was no hesitation in his eyes as he looked up at Yakov. “Because I love skating more than anything,” he said, voice steady and determined, “and I’m going to be the best skater in the whole world.”

 _Well._ It wasn’t often incoming students were so bold. But those that did _rarely_ measured up to their pride.

Time to see if this boy was any different than the others.

He nodded, then gestured to the skates sitting on the boy’s lap. “Get those on and show me what you’ve been working on. You must have at least _one_ program ready if you’re here.”

The boy’s face split into a wide, beaming smile, and he automatically pulled off his shoes to get his skates on. They looked well-broken-in, so that was a good sign, as was the obvious eagerness as he practically ran out onto the ice.

“Warm up first!” Yakov barked once his blades hit the ice. The boy nodded, then easily began a few laps around the rink. While his excitement was still palpable, he was laser-focused as he did his figure-eights, a few camel turns, and his practice jumps. When he was sufficiently warmed up (Yakov had to admit, he was impressed that the boy had given himself enough time; skaters at his age were rarely so well disciplined. He’d have to call up Irinka and give her his compliments), he made his way to the center of the ice. He took a deep breath and sent a bright grin to Yakov.

Then, with no warning, his entire demeanor changed.

The overly-excited, impatient boy that had interrupted the lesson disappeared, and a cool, collected skater appeared as he got in position. He lifted his arm, lifted his head, then immediately sank into his routine. He glided across the ice as if he’d been born on it, twisting and banking in perfect rhythm to the music playing in his head.

It wasn’t a perfect routine, no. His footwork was sloppy, and he touched down on a double Salchow—due to nerves, no doubt, considering he landed a triple flip with hardly a waver. But the mistakes didn’t matter, and neither did the impressive jumps. What was _most_ important, more than anything, is that Yakov _could not_ take his eyes off of this boy.

His favorite students were always the ones that commanded the attention of the audience, but this wasn’t the same. This boy wasn’t demanding that you look at him; he was _inviting_ the audience to join in his joy _._ Every outstretched hand, every toss of his head was a heartfelt request that just edged on desperation.

 _Watch me. Isn’t this fun? Enjoy what I’m doing, because it’s for_ you _._

Yakov had seen many, _many_ different styles in his years of skating. But he’d never encountered anything like this. And, proud and disruptive as his introduction had been, he’d be an _idiot_ to turn this marvel of a boy away.

The routine drew to a close, and for a moment, the boy held his pose. He trembled, breathing hard as he stared straight up at the ceiling, then let his arm drop as he looked up at Yakov. Sweat matted his fair hair to his forehead, and his face was soft, as if he’d just woken from a dream. It took a moment before the big, bright smile was on his face again, and he skated over to meet Yakov.

“So? How was that?” he asked breathlessly. “Was I good?”

Yakov shook his head, pushing aside his marvel to put his best coaching face on. He crossed his arms as he looked up at the boy, face hard.

“You _do_ love skating.” It wasn’t a question, but the boy nodded all the same.

“Yes. More than anything.”

“How old are you?”

The boy stood up straight, eyes sparkling as if that was a “yes.” “Eleven, but I’ll be twelve in December.”

He nodded. “Good, good. That gives me enough time to polish you up before your Junior debut.” He looked up as the boy sucked in a breath, but before he could blurt out whatever gratitude was going to leave his mouth, Yakov met his gaze dead-on. “But this won’t be easy. I’m not your parent, I’m not your cheerleader. I’m going to work you harder than you’d ever thought possible. If you become my student, _nothing_ will be more important than the ice. You need to understand that skating will be your _entire life_ from this point on _._ ”

The boy blinked, blue eyes wide. After a moment, though, he did the very last thing Yakov expected—he _laughed._

“That’s not a problem,” he said breezily. “Skating’s been my entire life since I first stepped onto the ice.” That cool confidence returned as he met Yakov’s eyes, a small smile on his face. “I’ll make you proud. I promise.”

The moment broke, and he sent Yakov another wide grin as he glided over to the entrance. “So I’ll see you on Monday, Coach Yakov! That’s when your new session starts—don’t worry, I’ll remember, I have it written down on my calendar.”

“ _What?_ ” Well, the boy really _had_ been confident that he’d get this, hadn’t he? Yakov huffed as he walked over to where he was pulling off his skates, then set his hands on his hips as he looked down at him.

“What’s your name, malchik?” he asked as he slipped his shoes back on. “You never introduced yourself through all that.”

The boy looked up, then gave the biggest grin he had yet. “Victor Valentinovich Nikiforov.” He tied his skates together, then tossed them over his shoulder as he lightly got up to his feet. “And that’s the last time you’ll ever need to ask.” Then, with a wave and a bright “da skorova,” he was out the doors and gone.

Yakov lingered for a moment, staring at the door. _Victor Nikiforov._ In that moment, that name had the potential of belonging to the greatest skater Russia had ever seen or, possibly, the biggest pain in the neck Yakov would ever have to deal with.

But either way, Yakov knew that this charming whirlwind of a boy—this _Victor Nikiforov_ , who already loved the ice more than anything—had staked a claim in his life without so much as an appointment beforehand.

So now, all there was to do was to see just where this whirlwind would lead.

               

 


End file.
